Where's Billy?
by FallenL.Angel
Summary: Mrs. Hudson has once again took Billy the skull from his mantle and Sherlock wants him back. Where'd she put him this time? (There is no point to this, just for the giggles really, it's also slightly cracky. You've been warned.)
1. Where's Billy?

**Disclaimer** **: I do not own Sherlock or any of it's characters. Ownership goes respectfully to the BBC and Moftiss.**

 **Warnings: Stupid, silly, and has absolutely no point. No, seriously, there is no point to this, so if you're reading it because you think there's going to be some big revelation and huge character development, then I'm going to have to disappoint you. Also, some swearing, but then again, it's John. It's also very, very short. Perhaps slightly cracky.**

* * *

 **Sherlock  
** **Ficlet  
** **Where's Billy?**

 **Summary:** Mrs. Hudson has once again took Billy the skull from his mantle and Sherlock wants him back. Where'd she put him this time?

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"Sherlock? What are you doing?"John asked as he looked at the mess his flatmate had made. Papers were strewn across the floor, the bookshelves had been relieved of their burden of Sherlock's numerous texts, and he thought he saw a few case files and latex gloves thrown in there somewhere. It didn't surprise him anymore. He's gotten so used to seeing cut off fingers in the butter tub and eyeballs in cups of tea (and one cup of coffee) that he, frankly, had stopped giving a shit.

Sherlock didn't acknowledge him right away, seemingly too busy burying his head in a box of files, so John called to him again, stepping over a wayward coffee mug.

"Sherlock! What in blazes are you doing?"

"Mrs. Hudson took my skull." Sherlock said, finally standing and turning towards John. John raised a brow.

"Is that my stethoscope?" Sherlock blinked, then looked down at the object around his neck.

"Oh, yes, I was using it to see if any of the boxes I shook made any exrta noise. I know you hate when I make a mess."

"Then what the hell is all this?" John deadpanned, gesturing around the room that looked like it had been faced with one of Lestrade's drug busts. Again.

"Oh, this. Using the stethoscope took too long, so I just decided to open them anyway. It's saved me hours of looking."

 _And gave_ me _hours of cleaning_ , but John didn't mention that. It was a pointless battle anyway.

With a sigh, he plopped down into his armchair. He reached over and pulled his laptop into his lap and opened it, ready to look at the comments on his blog and possibly update it. He shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, but just couldn't seem to. He even gave a little bounce.

"Sherlock, did you do anything to the cushion while I was out?" The detective stopped digging around in their poor fireplace and whipped his head around. In seconds he was next to John and plunging his sooty hand down between the cushion and John. Reality didn't even hit John until he felt his friend's long fingers groping his bum.

"Fuck! Give a bloke some warning!" Sherlock didn't answer except for a noise of triumph as he pulled the familiar skull from where John had been sitting mere moments before.

"There you are Billy," Sherlock actually looked like he'd just found his favorite toy,"That must have been suffocating."

"I hope you remember that a skull doesn't have lungs." A bemused John said, but was ignored in favor of Sherlock cooing over Billy's liberation from the seat cushion. Then the detective turned and walked back into his room, still murmuring over the human cranium. John looked back at his chair.

"That soot better come out, Sherlock!" John sighed and looked around at the rat's nest of a living room. Deciding he didn't have the energy nor the patience to start cleaning, he instead grabbed his laptop and sat himself on the coffee table corner, the only clean surface left.

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 **Something silly that I'd thought I'd post. I have no point to making this. It was literally written within an hour (I think), then I gradually came back over a week to make some edits here and there. Nothing real big either. So, despite this, hopefully some of you like it. There's another one like this that I'll probably post as a second chapter to this one, but it'll be a few days. It will be posted regardless, seeing as it's almost done and I might as well, instead of letting it gather dust, the poor thing. Anyway, all concrit is appreciated and welcomed. Hopefully this gets a smile out of one of you. ;) (By the way, is ficlet even a legit term anymore? Oh well, I'm using it anyway. It sounds cute.)**

 **Sincerely,**

 **Fallen L. Angel**


	2. A Spoonful of Sugar-

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock. All rights are reserved for the original owners. And Conan Doyle who came up with our favorite duo in the first place. ;)**

 **Warning(s): Pretty much the same ones as last time. Silliness, little point, and some swearing. Plus a bit of gallows humor, I suppose, because of the mention of Mr. Hudson, but your mileage may vary on that. Then there's Mrs. Hudson, but I don't think you'll mind her. (I swear I had more warnings but I can't seem to remember them. . . Er. . . Proceed with caution. . . I guess. . . Maybe not. . .?)**

* * *

 **Sherlock**

 **Ficlet**

 **A Spoonful of Sugar-**

 **Summary:** Lestrade joins Mrs. Hudson for tea. So does Billy.

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It was staring at him. It didn't have eyes, but Lestrade was more than a little sure that the skull was staring at him. Really, the only reason he noticed was because the damn thing was somewhat hidden behind a container of sugar and a vase of flowers. The same sugar he was using for his tea.

He had come to 221B to ask Sherlock if he could help them on a case, but had found not only John, who'd be at work, but Sherlock absent from the flat. Mrs. Hudson had found him on the stairs and invited him in for a cup of tea while he waited. He happily agreed, seeing as he was a little parched. Now here he was in a nice little kitchen, with a sweet, little landlady, and wonderfully, sweet tea in a little cup. With a skull.

At least Donovan and Anderson weren't with him, they'd have a field day with this one.

Mrs. Hudson, however, didn't seem to notice. She was happily chatting away, something about Sherlock and the toaster and toes, while ignoring the skull on the table. It was unnerving to be honest. Just as she was about to go into a story involving John and his lost syringes ("Sherlock, apparently, wanted to see how well they'd be used for cupcake batter.") Lestrade cleared his throat. Mrs. Hudson stopped in mid-sentence, inquisitive smile on her face, waiting for Lestrade's question.

"Yes, this all sounds very entertaining Mrs. Hudson, but I was wondering, um, why," He gestured uselessly to the unexpected guest on the table,"Why do you, um. That is. . ."

"Yes? Is there something wrong with the tea? Do you need more sugar?"

"No!" Lestrade didn't mean to sound forceful, but the idea of Mrs. Hudson touching that godawful thing made his skin crawl. He didn't think he wanted any sugar that was next to that.

"No. No thank you. It's plenty nice. I was actually going to ask about the, um," Lestrade sighed.

"Mrs. Hudson, why in God's name is there a skull on your table?" Mrs. Hudson blinked and looked down. She made a little coo as if she just noticed her little friend.

"Oh, that. It's my husband's." Lestrade nearly dropped his teacup. "I mean, he may not have been a good man, but I did love him once. You know how hard it is to give somethings up." Lestrade felt slightly ill at that.

Wasn't her husband executed? How the hell did she get the skull? Sherlock, perhaps? Now that he thought of it, this skull looked familiar.

"Oh, detective, you're too easy," Mrs. Hudson tittered,"I'm just kidding. It's not my husband's." Lestrade visibly relaxed.

"It's actually Sherlock's."

"Mrs. Hudson!" Wonderful. Now he was going to have to explain to John why Sherlock never came home. Well, properly anyway. Then again, knowing Sherlock, John probably helped. It would explain why the skull was in such good shape and blood-free. Mrs. Hudson was suddenly giving a disapproving glare. Lestrade hoped his skull wasn't next.

"Tut, tut, inspector. I'll have you know Sherlock is alive and well. I'd never hurt him, he's like my child. No, this skull is Billy."

Lestrade gave her, and the skull, a weary look.

"Sherlock named him. I've no idea where he got it from."

He made a mental note to check their files for anyone named Billy or if there were any graverobbing incidents. Or both. One could never tell with Sherlock Holmes. However, just as Lestrade was about to question the landlady further the door opened with a slam and then there were running footsteps.

Sherlock, draped in his usual billowing coat, slid to a halt in the entrance to Mrs. Hudson's kitchen. His eyes glanced around before locking onto the table.

"So that's where you put him." Sherlock said, and proceeded to stalk forward. There was another set of footsteps then John Watson appeared. He looked rather haggard, his clothes rumpled and his hair windswept.

"Sherlock, why the hell did you - Oh." John's expression suddenly turned stony as he watched Sherlock snatch the skull from the table, "Nevermind."

Sherlock rubbed the skull, shining it with his scarf, before looking at Mrs. Hudson.

"I remembered seeing sugar near the mantle. John's a messy eater, but he doesn't usually walk around with food." Sherlock said.

"I'm right here." John was ignored, though. Mrs. Hudson shrugged.

"Guess I'll I have to do better then."

"It wasn't bad, hiding in plain sight is a clever tactic, but probably better for objects that aren't being actively looked for." Mrs. Hudson gave Sherlock a smile, like a parent indulging their child.

"Of course. I'll take your advice to heart, dear." Sherlock nodded, satisfied, then turned to leave.

"Come along, John. We've work to do now that Billy has been retrieved." John gave a long suffering sigh and began to follow. Lestrade, the poor confused man, looked between Mrs. Hudson and the doorway before the older lady waved him on, as if a crazed detective hadn't just rushed her table and fine china to procure a head ornament. With a quick 'thank you', the DI was right behind John soon enough and climbing the stairs to the sitting room.

"So, how was tea time with Billy?" John asked, holding the door for Lestrade.

"Nice enough. He's a bit quiet for my tastes, though."

"Yeah. I think it's one of the better qualities around here."

"Of course he's quiet," Sherlock snapped, re-positioning Billy back in his proper place,"He's a skull."

"That's what I said when you pulled him from the cushion yesterday." John grumbled, sounding miffed and, perhaps, a little insulted for some reason. However, this did bring back Lestrade's other concern.

"Yeah, sorry, but I've got to ask; Sherlock, why the hell do you have a skull?"

"A case. I thought he made good company."

Lestrade _could_ be wrong, but he thought himself a wiser man for not asking.

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 **I did say this would be posted shortly after the first one. Here it is. Hopefully you all enjoy. It's not exactly like the first one, but I think it still fits. Hopefully everything flows well, but I think it's ready to post now. I do still have a few ideas here and there for this and I might gain more as I go. We'll see. Anyway, as per my usual, all concrit is welcome, either through review or PM. Don't be shy, I won't bite. I love getting feedback so I know what you guys liked (and what you didn't), so I can continue to create these and give you all enjoyment out of my simple writings. I hope this puts a smile on your faces, and if it didn't tickle you funny bone, well, thanks for stopping by anyway. I appreciate you giving it a chance (whether or not you actually read the whole thing and made it this far. XD).**

 **Also, any questions you guys may have, go ahead and ask. My inbox is open and so is the review box down below. ;)**

 **Sincerely,**

 **Fallen L. Angel  
**

 **P.S. The title is a reference to the Mary Poppins song, if you were wondering.**


	3. Thinking Outside the Box

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. It all belongs the Moftiss and the BBC.**

 **Warning(s): This is bad. No really. The jokes are terrible, the puns are terrible and amateurish (even if there is very little of them), and you all are probably going to hate me by the time you're done if you haven't left already. I'm sincerely sorry for what you are about to read. Not like it's stopping me from posting it for the hell of it, though. Otherwise, all warnings from last time apply. Also, the ones I forgot last chapter - slightly cracky and probably ooc. You've been _thoroughly_ warned.**

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 **Sherlock**

 **Ficlet**

 **Thinking Outside the Box**

 **Summary:** Billy is unamused when he finds himself trapped and in the dark.

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It was dark.

Very Dark actually.

Thankfully I got used to the dark years ago so I'm hardly upset. Mostly.

Oh! I'm sorry, you don't know me do you? Well how rude of me. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Billy. Just Billy if you please. Nice and simple. I did have another name once, quite distinguished. However, I enjoy the simplicity that is Billy and find it suits me.

Though, I do hope this next part doesn't frighten you. I'm, well, I'm not all put together. No, no! Goodness, no. I'm not mentally unhinged, don't worry about that. My mind is perfectly intact, but, well, it's the other thing.

I'm a skull. Really. Quite literally a skull, a human cranium. Please, don't ask where the rest of me is, I don't know for sure. We lost each other sometime ago and were never reunited. It's not too much of an issue though, not like I could do much more with it anyway. In fact, I'd say my life has significantly improved. After all, it's quite a step up from being buried in dirt and cobwebs to being on the warm mantle of an elegant fireplace and rooming with a madman.

Well, the madman bit probably puts most off, but I find him fascinating. His new flatmate is alright, if a little dull. He reminds me of a hedgehog oddly enough. I digress, however.

The point is, I've been taken from my mantle. Again. Though I'm not entirely sure where I've been put. So I've been trying to figure it out.

Now, this may fly over your head a bit, but the fact that I'm a skull doesn't mean I'm incapable of deducing things on my own. Though I do not have the finer senses such as smell and taste, I can see, to an extent, and my sense of space and time is impeccable. Came in handy when I was buried six feet under.

What I can tell is that it appears Mrs. Hudson has taken me again. Perhaps for my companion getting a head start on his maggot experiment. He said it was supposed to be the crown jewel of his experiments this week. Apparently his landlady disagreed.

She didn't walk for too long. I'd say not even five minutes. I couldn't tell which way, considering my face was buried in her bosom. Would have made me blush so long ago, but I'm more experienced now and have already reached my peak years of life and went over the hill of old age.

I assume she went up stairs rather than down them, considering, er, her chest moved less than if she went down. Don't look at me like that, remember I became quite experienced in my old age! Anyway, I remember rattling, creaking hinges, and then something sliding open. Then she dropped me with little ceremony and trapped me inside whatever this dreaded box is. I assume it's a box. Or box like. I know boxes, considering a coffin is a type of box. I'm very familiar with coffins.

Oh! Wait! What's this? Light? Oh god, don't tell me they came for me again. I'm more suited for a highway to hell than a stairway to heaven, anyway.

"Sherlock!" Oh, never mind, it's the hedgehog. Better, but not by much.

"What in blazes is your skull doing in my pants drawer!?"

P-pants!? Oh lord above! I've never been more thankful for my lack of olfactory senses. Goodness, I probably smell like pellets now.

"My skull?"

"Yes, your skull. Billy. Why is Billy in my drawer with my pants?" Oh use your head man, why else!? It's no walk in the park for me either. How embarrassing. At least the red ones aren't in here.

"Well, Mrs. Hudson is certainly getting creative isn't she?"

"If by 'creative' you mean 'slightly creepy' then yes."

"I do hope she knows that putting Billy in with your pants wouldn't stop me from looking in there. It's not the first time she's used it. Hm. Alright, maybe not so creative, perhaps losing her touch."

"Wait, what!?" I sometimes wonder why they haven't kissed yet. While not exactly smiled upon back in my day, I do acknowledge times have changed. They've already got a head start on the arguing and living together. Might as well sign the damn paper and be done with it. I know I'm rambling again but it makes me feel better than thinking about where my frontal lobe has been sitting.

"Why were you in my pants drawer!?"

"Come along, Billy. We have experiments to perform."

"Are you going to answer me? Sherlock!"

Hmph. Honestly. The hedgehog's pants drawer again? Third bloody time, I swear! If I didn't already have a bone to pick with that woman I certainly do now!

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 **I once again apologize for the trash and terrible punage that is this chapter. I truly am sorry. I don't even care for puns but I couldn't help it! It's like I felt compelled to write them as I made this. I probably could have wrote this without all the terrible jokes and puns but I my imagination (and possibly Billy) possessed my hands and I couldn't stop myself once I started. Er, oops? I also apologize for any British terms that might be misused in this chapter. I know some British vocabulary but lack personal experience to fall back on.**

 **Sincerely,**

 **Fallen L. Angel**

 **P.S. Hopefully you guys didn't get too much of a headache from this. ;) (I'msorryIcan'tstop!Helpme!)**


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